The Shadow of the Snake
by Spr0ck3t
Summary: Rated for later violence, this is a not-very-many-original characters fic. Sorry. Done for my friends. Please don't flame!
1. The Beginnings

**The Shadow of the Snake**

What if something you thought could not ever be possible came to life before your very eyes? What if it was all true? Fantasies...you had thought. Fiction! You had cried. But inside, deep in your subconscious you thought, "What if..." All the ifs have become ares. It's real. But not in the way you want it to be...

Albus Dumbledore put his head in his hands and sighed, ignoring his glistening silver beard that shone in front of his weary eyes. All his students were leaving. The spirits of the children were dying, wavering. Their parents were yanking them out of his school by the dozens. The Death Eaters were back and Voldemort too. There was nothing he could do. Soon the school would be closed, and all the children scattered into horrible Muggle normalness. "What can I do..." he said in a muffled sort of way to the desk.

The painting behind him shifted and murmured. One sat straight up in his red velvet chair, purple-feathered hat bobbing. "I know!" he grinned, showing yellowed teeth. Dumbledore didn't even sit up; this headmaster had been a little...off. "I have heard..." the portrait continued in a conspiratal whisper, "...there are those that are Muggle-born that are brought into the world with magic in their hearts. You could find them, reach out to them."

Dumbledore straightened. "Oh my..." he said slowly. "You've just given me an epiphany." He got up so hurriedly from his desk that his chair flew backwards and almost dashed to pieces on the sharp stone fireplace edge. "Really..." it said slowly, then flowed back into inanimate silence. He paced back and forth, soft shoes not clicking, but a gentle sort of whooshing noise on the cobblestone floor. "Who can write...who can write for me?" He nearly jumped across the room to an immense closet and opened the creaking oak door. "_Accio Author Record!"_ he whispered into the immense silence, not sure if it would work. He saw a dim yellow package flying towards him quickly. He waited patiently, oh so patiently. THERE! It hit his outstretched hands, and he opened it hurridly. "Of course!" he chuckled to himself, and swiftly stepped to the gigantum fireplace, pausing only to grab a handful of fine powder from an elaborate silver box. He threw it into the fire and stepped firmly into the flickering green flames. "Rowling." He said firmly, and vanished.


	2. The Next

**The Shadow of the Snake**

What if something you thought could not ever be possible came to life before your very eyes? What if it was all true? Fantasies...you had thought. Fiction! You had cried. But inside, deep in your subconscious you thought, "What if..." All the ifs have become ares. It's real. But not in the way you want it to be...

Albus Dumbledore put his head in his hands and sighed, ignoring his glistening silver beard that shone in front of his weary eyes. All his students were leaving. The spirits of the children were dying, wavering. Their parents were yanking them out of his school by the dozens. The Death Eaters were back and Voldemort too. There was nothing he could do. Soon the school would be closed, and all the children scattered into horrible Muggle normalness. "What can I do..." he said in a muffled sort of way to the desk.

The painting behind him shifted and murmured. One sat straight up in his red velvet chair, purple-feathered hat bobbing. "I know!" he grinned, showing yellowed teeth. Dumbledore didn't even sit up; this headmaster had been a little...off. "I have heard..." the portrait continued in a conspiratal whisper, "...there are those that are Muggle-born that are brought into the world with magic in their hearts. You could find them, reach out to them."

Dumbledore straightened. "Oh my..." he said slowly. "You've just given me an epiphany." He got up so hurriedly from his desk that his chair flew backwards and almost dashed to pieces on the sharp stone fireplace edge. "Really..." it said slowly, then flowed back into inanimate silence. He paced back and forth, soft shoes not clicking, but a gentle sort of whooshing noise on the cobblestone floor. "Who can write...who can write for me?" He nearly jumped across the room to an immense closet and opened the creaking oak door. "_Accio Author Record!"_ he whispered into the immense silence, not sure if it would work. He saw a dim yellow package flying towards him quickly. He waited patiently, oh so patiently. THERE! It hit his outstretched hands, and he opened it hurriedly. "Of course!" he chuckled to himself, and swiftly stepped to the gigantum fireplace, pausing only to grab a handful of fine powder from an elaborate silver box. He threw it into the fire and stepped firmly into the flickering green flames. "Rowling." He said firmly, and vanished.

In a different place, a totally dissimilar atmosphere, a slender blonde shook madly, holding a single embellished envelope that hung delicately from her musically-shaped fingers. The wax seal had been broken by disbelieving fingers, thoughts racing behind straight bangs and brown eyes. "_A trick..."_ she said to herself disapprovingly. "_A joke. A lie. A harmless prank?"_ She twitched. _"Get a hold of yourself, Emily! It's not a question mark. It's a lie."_ She carefully unfolded the eggshell off-white paper. "Dear Ms. Watkins," it proclaimed in bold. "You have been accepted to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." She sank to the white-tile kitchen floor in a cross-legged position. "Oh..." it was no longer a thought, but an expression of disbelieving joy. Her first thoughts had been right. It was an owl. It was an owl, and she was going to Hogwarts. Hogwarts...she smiled dreamily and started daydreaming just a bit, but logically. No Daniel Radcliffe-love-dreams for her. She was-BRRRRING!

She started. The phone. There was a phone. Ah, yes. Muggle. She was a Muggle? She cringed and reached for it. "Hello, Emmy?" a tremulous voice sounded hesitantly from the other end, a bit crackly. "Dani!" she said excitedly, but then fell short. She couldn't tell anyone, but this was not just anyone...it was Dani! She took a deep breath, and was surprised to hear the same words come from the voice on the other end of the ocean. "I got a letter..." they both stopped, and started laughing. The rest of the conversation was restrained whispers and excited laughter. It was real. It was true.

A few miles south, a dishwater blonde clasped an identical letter to her chest. She grinned, plain blue eyes sparkling in the after-the-rain sunlight. "I knew it." She whispered to the cat. "You knew, too?" The orange and white cat purred back at her, yellow-green-grey eyes blinking in seeming agreement. "It's real, Muffin." She said, sweeping the cat into her arms, dancing about, not caring if the orange shedding stuck to her typical black coat and blue shirt. She reached for the phone, only to have it ring. An excited Dani picked up. "REBA!" she shouted. The girl laughed. "You too, huh?" A silence that did not last long briefly punctuated the dialogue, but soon another voice chimed in, a alto voice of happiness and intelligence. Reba smiled at the mouthpiece. They accepted her...and she had been accepted.


End file.
